Love and Meatballs

I think it’s fair to say that most girls would find it flattering if two men were fighting over them. One man brings out a glove and slaps the other, challenging him to a duel! But, what if it’s two middle-aged women fighting over you? That happened to me last night at a dinner party and it was strange, to say the least.
A co-worker had several of us over to her house for dinner (homemade sauce with FOUR different types of meats (!!!)), and the hostess had mentioned in the past that she knew a young man she used to work with, who lives in Somerville, like me, that she would like to set me up with. Another co-worker brought this up at the dinner last night, “What about that guy you wanted to set Lauren up with?” (Hi, people I don’t know who read this. My name is Lauren.) My face instantly turns red because this is a dinner party, not a “Lauren’s single, let’s talk about that, party.”
The hostess says, “I’m on it. I’ve emailed his mother and am trying to set this up.” She had an old neighborhood friend over for dinner, too, who pipes up and says, “What about my Brian?” So, now, the two women start arguing over who I would be better suited to, while my co-workers are laughing at me and I sit there getting increasingly red in the face and have at least 2 of the 4 meats in my mouth. (sidenote: heh, TWSS)
Then, they leave the dinner table to pull up both boys on Facebook.com. Then, the friend takes out her cell phone and starts texting her son about me. It got REALLY weird when I had my head turned and the friend was trying to sneakily take my picture with her phone when I wasn’t looking. Or, perhaps it was stranger when I was using the bathroom and I could hear one my co-workers spelling out my last name so the woman could text it to her son. Yet again stranger when they started saying they’d like me for a daughter-in-law, and my co-worker was trying to think of ways to break up her son’s relationship so I could marry him.
It really was very flattering, and perhaps I’m missing an opportunity: I should really start scamming on 56-year-old women.

Miss, can you help me?

Last night I went to Ikea with some friends, and I accidentally wore a bright yellow cardigan and a dark blue shirt underneath that. I didn't realize that I was dressed like an employee there until a few people looked like they were about to ask me a question, but then couldn't locate my name tag.
When I was checking out, I saw someone take a picture of me with their cell phone camera in the way that "I'm not taking a picture of you, but I'm so totally obviously taking a picture of you" kind of way.
Oh, well. I ate an entire plate of Swedish Meatballs with lingonberry jam, afterwards walked around the whole store with the top button of my pants undone and spent $100 on stuff I don't REALLY need, and it totally made me feel better.

Just Another Case of Mistaken (Anal) Identity

I had dinner at a friend's house this week and when we sat down to eat, she got all excited and said, "Oh! I thought of you last week." "Oh yeah?" Maybe she saw a dress I might like, or jar of peanut butter at the grocery store that reminded her of me.
"Yeah. I finally tried anal and it's exactly like you said. I totally thought I was going to poop!"
Hold on. Hold it RIGHT there. You're safe, it's ok. If you have done that before and you're reading this, don't worry, this is a judgment free (and no spin) zone. But for the love of God, that was NOT me who told her anything about it. I have absolutely no interest in doing that, nor discussing it with friends!
A few friends get frustrated with me that I don't go into too many details about the boudoir, so the details she was giving me were making me severely uncomfortable. She kept elaborating before I could stop her and say, "NOT ME! NOT ME! NOT ME!"
What's worse is that I think her husband used my supposed willingness to do that act in order to convince her to do it. Apparently he said, "Everyone does it - even [name redacted]!" I'm also curious if when she says, "I thought of you" - at what point did she think of me? Actually, I may not want to know the answer to that.

From the Embarassment Files: Item #876

I'm finally ready to talk about it.
The flight back from Florida's work trip was uneventful. I had some light conversation about the book I'm reading, did some work and Su Doku puzzles from my complimentary USA Today the hotel left me. While the flight was uneventful, walking from the gate to the baggage claim certainly was not.
You know when people get into car accidents and sometimes a passenger who is asleep in the back is the least injured because their body just goes limp? Well, I was so exhausted after busy days filled with IMPORTANT meetings and late nights getting nutty in the "hospitality suite" with co-workers that as I was walking with my boss from the plane - probably gesticulating wildly about something - I completely barreled into this guy who was standing in the middle of the walkway typing away on his Blackberry.
He came out of nowhere, I swear.
I couldn’t stop my body so I just sort of melted into his suitcase and fell; I was splayed across the walkway at LaGuardia Airport. Of course my boss and I were laughing so hard that I could barely stand; I didn’t hurt myself (or so I thought), but all I could do was tell the guy I was sorry for beating up his suitcase. I’m such an embarrassment when I’m tired.
Of course, when we were back in the office my boss thought it would be funny to tell co-workers about my fall, so I spent a few days recreating the event and laughing over the tears. I'm not sure if it was the original fall or one of my many "dramatizations" about the fall, but my left hand's thumb has been killing me.

Missed Connections

I missed my subway to work four times this morning.
After sleeping a measly three hours, I woke up at 6:30 am to escort my beautiful sister - who is visiting the East Coast for a week - to a bus in Chinatown headed to my brother's apartment in Philadelphia.
When I dropped her off, I headed north to Canal Street on my way to work. My first mistake was going underground on the wrong side of the street. It wasn't a big deal, but I had to go down stairs and then upstairs to run and try to take the N train that just arrived in the station uptown - miss number 1.
Another N train came a few minutes later and it was express. I didn't think about this clearly enough, and the train zoomed right by my work's stop at 49th street - miss number 2.
The train made it to the 57th street stop; I went up another flight of stairs, and down another to head back downtown. I hopped on a W train and was so busy looking for a very specific My Morning Jacket song to make me feel better that I didn't realize the subway was at my stop until the doors were closing again - miss number 3.
I got off the train at Times Square to head back uptown. I went up the stairs to cross over to the other side of the platform. I heard a train I needed pulling into the station, but am so afraid of falling down stairs, that I gave up the chase and decided to wait - miss number 4.
This is just the beginning of what is sure to be a very Charlie Brown Halloween.

I Now Pronounce You Embarrassed and Unrecognized

This weekend my mom was visiting the East Coast. She flew into Philadelphia to see my brother, see Amish country, shop The Christmas Tree Shops, but mostly she was here to attend the wedding of one of her best friend's daughters.
After work on Friday, I drove up to Connecticut from New York to meet my brother and mom at the hotel near the location of the wedding. My brother and I have always been confused why we're invited to the events of our mom's friends, mostly because we don't know any of their "kids" as well as I think their parents wished we did. While all the kids are lovely and accommodating, we're sure they don't want us at their weddings either.
My parents, brother and I were all born in the same town in Connecticut. My mom's best friends and their children were also born in that same town. The difference between us and them is that they've lived there their entire lives, while my family (with sister added in West Springfield, Mass.) has moved seven times removed from our roots.
Last summer we went to another one of these functions, meeting many people we didn't think we'd see again.
Well.
In order to be helpful, my brother and I went over to the wedding site early and set up where we could, as there was another wedding wrapping up minutes before the next was to begin. There was nothing for us to do except not look forward to the next five hours of our lives.
With arms crossed, we talked away the time and eventually people started to show up. A guy walked up to us and said, "Hey, I think I met you at another one of these things last year."
I said, "Oh, yeah, [mom's friend's daughter's] wedding ..."
Then my brother says, "Who are you again?"
"I'm the groom."
Ouch.
"I'm going to leave you guys alone now."
Wow.
The best part, outside of the WORST kind of embarrassment, was his best man snickering in the back at my brother's mistake. To be fair, I was seconds away from asking this guy the same question, but saw that he was wearing a tuxedo. Thank you, context clues.
After shot-gunning a few drinks to ease the tension, my brother and I ran into another wedding guest: the son of one of my mom's best friends. He walked right up to my brother, shook his hand and said, "[Brother], how's it goin'?" I extended my hand and said, "Hey! How have you been?" The amount of dead space in the gaze returned my way could only be explained by Carl Sagan. He had absolutely no idea who I was. Meanwhile, a few feet away from the awkward exchange was a photo collage including a picture of us STANDING WITHIN INCHES OF EACH OTHER. (Ok, the picture was taken when I was four years old, in a kiddie pool, also known as the first and last time I wore a bikini. Whatever.)
Suffice to say, my mother assured us we would never have to attend another event of people we didn't know, and who clearly did not know us.